


Green Light

by sam_erotica



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: First Time, Light Angst, M/M, Mild BDSM, Public Sex, established dom, kink club, new sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_erotica/pseuds/sam_erotica
Summary: “Can I try to explain it?” Jack asks, quietly. A tone of respect laces every word. Sam nods. Jack leans back and looks him in the eye, fearless. Sam wishes he could be fearless.“You want to be able to let go. You want to let someone else finally take control and you haven’t ever found a way to do that."





	Green Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like a Music That Holds My Hands Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310197) by [saltandbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne). 



_This was a terrible idea._

 

Sam is alternating his attention back and forth between the sweating beer in his hand and the door sitting sweetly under the brightly lit EXIT sign. He gazes at his escape with longing, then looks back to his hands cradling the glass on the bar in front of him, unable to either make a decision or make his legs work.

 

He’s more uncomfortable than he has ever been, and yet not willing to leave, yet. The voice inside berates him a bit for even thinking he’d find a fit here, then cajoles _Or, this could be the best idea you’ve ever had. Look around, sweetheart_.

 

Sam spins on his barstool, takes a deep breath, looks around. He lets his eyes fall lightly shut for a moment and pictures the room in his mind’s eye. It’s all there: the deep mahogany of the bar currently pressing into his back, the dark gray of the painted cement floor under his feet, the soft lighting bouncing off deep red walls. Opening his eyes, he can see the plush seating area to his right and the two men there, chatting. One of them casually holds a leash attached to young blonde woman on the floor, sitting on her heels, back straight. She stares at the floor in front of her knees, patient. To his left he can see a short hallway leading to several private areas, each shielded by heavy black curtains, and directly ahead a young man with dark hair is firmly secured to a St. Andrew’s Cross. His back and legs are red and trembling.

 

As Sam watches, transfixed, the young man’s naked body convulses under a quick shower of ten precise strokes from a slightly older, shirtless man. The man holding the flogger pauses to step back and admire his work, then reaches out with his other hand, petting the angry skin with a soft calming touch. He leans close, possessive, their bodies almost intimate in the way they lean toward each other as he whispers something in the younger man’s ear. He brushes the man’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, then sharply cradles his chin to force eye contact. They smile at each other like lovers, then he steps back and the strokes begin again at one, harder this time. Sam’s breath quickens. He feels sweat prickle across the skin of his own neck and his cock throbs with interest. Suddenly overwhelmed, Sam looks away. The voice inside says _You should go. The exit is right there._

 

He looks away, and then slightly down into the greenest eyes he’s ever seen. Sam feels like he’s been punched in the gut as Green Eyes looks him over, top to bottom, and then right inside him to everything he’s never been able to articulate.

 

“You look like you are leaving. Don’t leave .”

 

Sam feels the unexplainable urge to respond to anything this man requests of him with a low, breathy _“Okay, yes.”_

 

Green Eyes just stares for a minute, evaluating, and Sam soaks it in. He tries, and fails, to maintain eye contact, gaze finally sliding down to his own hand still gripping the wood of the bar. He squeezes the rounded wooden edge, releases, anxiety flooding him. Anxiety, tightness, confusion … _What do I do now? How could this man possibly be interested in me, I don’t know what I’m doing, oh shit, I can’t breathe. I’m gonna pass out in front of this beautiful man and he’ll know without a doubt that I don’t belong here…_

 

“Stop.”

 

Sam drags a slow, anguished breath into his lungs as a strong hand clamps firm pressure to his wrist. The mahogany is warming beneath his skin.

 

“I’m Jack. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

 

Sam looks up. Jack is smiling, a calm yet powerful smile. Confident.

 

“You’re okay, just come talk to me for a bit,” he says, leading Sam with the one hand on his wrist and the other a comforting pressure on his low back. Sam feels the anxiety ebb away as he breathes his response.

 

“Okay. Okay, yes.”

 

*****

 

“I never thought I’d end up here,” Sam says, running his fingers through his hair, after they’d dispensed with the easy stuff like names, ages, beverages of choice. “I thought I could just be honest with people, about what I, I mean, about…”

 

The lump in his throat stops his voice. Sam fidgets, sweats, _here’s your chance for some of that honesty, sweetheart, what’s stopping you?_

 

The grounding weight of Jack’s hand on the back of his neck brings him out of his head, back to the present moment. Jack’s voice, solid and gravelly and low, crawls in through Sam’s ears and cradles every one of his soft, insecure places.

 

“About what you need.”

 

_Yes._

 

“Yes,” _I shouldn’t be giving in so easily, who is this man, am I safe? Yes, yes._ “Yes.”

 

“Boyfriends and girlfriends don’t always want to know everything, do they?”

 

Sam can’t stop himself from barking out a laugh, feeling too loud, too big, in their small semi-private space. Memory takes him back to other versions of this conversation, with other, people. Those conversations didn’t go so well. He feels clumsy for a minute, before he looks back toward Jack’s face and sees only humor, gentle admiration. Sam lets his eyes fall back to his lap, left hand worrying his right thumb, the sheen of his grey slacks next to the black leather of their couch.

 

“No, they really don’t,” he breathes.

 

“Do you have one of those right now?” Jack asks, an unnamed pressure building behind his voice, fingers teasing up the back of Sam’s neck and into his shaggy hair. “A boyfriend or a girlfriend?”

 

“No, neither.”

 

“Good. I don’t like to share, Sam.”

 

The ownership in Jack’s voice surprises Sam. He tries it on for a second, letting his eyes slip shut and imagining what it would feel like to let this man own him. His heart hammers. It feels … good, right. It feels like what he came here for. Blood rushes south and Sam becomes painfully aware of his slacks growing tighter, of the desire threatening to boil him alive. Lightheaded and bold, he looks directly into Jack’s green and sparkling eyes.

 

“Good. I don’t either.”

 

Jack’s gaze darkens.

 

“I’m going to kiss you right now, Sam. I won’t do anything else without your permission.”

 

Sam barely has time to squeeze “Okay, yes” from his lungs before Jack’s hand tightens in his hair and he is pulled roughly toward the other man’s body, warm lips slotting firmly into his own.

Suddenly he feels his senses flooded with the flavor of whiskey and cola, the warm spicy scent of cologne, body heat. Jack’s tongue dips into his mouth, and he feels an irrational rush of gratitude for this couch and Jack’s left hand, the only things keeping him from melting into the floor. Jack pulls back slightly, laughing quietly as Sam moans and chases his lips for more.

 

“Yes, Sam,” he says quietly, “you can touch me if you want.”

 

Realizing he had been waiting for permission, Sam reaches out, feels the skin of Jack’s shoulder burning hot beneath his crisp, black shirt. He pulls himself closer, begins to fit Jack’s body to his own like a puzzle piece.

 

“Tonight, when you came in, what were you needing?” Jack’s voice is quiet in Sam’s ear. His lips graze over the skin behind Sam’s ear as he speaks, his breath blooming hot along the hairline.

 

“I, I was trying to see, um… I wanted to know if, if I could… I’ve just never felt fully myself, you know, out there, and…”

 

Sam pauses, unsure of his ability to verbalize this, unsure of himself. The answer feels _right there_ , right on the outside edge of this moment. He focuses on the sensation of the leather couch, solid against his back, vibrating with his heartbeat, and breathes, _in, out, in, out._

 

“Can I try to explain it?” Jack asks, quietly. A tone of respect laces every word. Sam nods. Jack leans back and looks him in the eye, fearless. Sam wishes he could be fearless.

 

“You want to be able to let go. You want to let someone else finally take control and you haven’t ever found a way to do that. You’re a big guy,” Sam doesn’t miss the way Jack smirks at him through his eyelashes, “taller than me and everyone else in here. I bet your partners have always expected you to be the dominant type. They haven’t known how to take care of that side of you that wants to submit. But I do.”

 

Sam feels his chest heave with want. “Do you?” he whispers, reeling.

 

“Yes, I do.” Jack pauses to squeeze the back of Sam’s neck and a rush of compliant calm fills him from head to toe. His mouth falls open as Jack’s other hand toys with the top button of Sam’s shirt, a small smile spreading across his face. “You’re learning that I do, and you want to let me have that control. I hope you’re also learning that I’ll give it back to you the second you ask for it. You tell me ‘red light’ and everything stops. I’ll buy you some coffee, see you safely into a cab, and hope that you call me tomorrow. But we can stay at ‘green light’ for as long as you want, and I’ll do everything in my power to take this gorgeous body apart and then put it deliciously back together again .”

 

Trembling, Sam tries to imagine what it would mean to fall apart at this man’s hands. Suddenly giving Jack whatever he wants is the only thing he can think of. He feels a rush of adrenaline at the idea of those green eyes looking down at him, of Jack petting his hair, calling him a “good boy.”

 

Before he can think too hard about it, Sam is sliding off the couch and onto his knees. Jack groans deeply as Sam settles in front of him, eyes searching Sam’s for any hint of ‘red.’ The thick presence of Jack’s erection in his line of sight makes Sam’s mouth water. He takes a calming breath, settles back on his heels and rests his palms flat on his thighs. He remembers the blonde woman from earlier and thinks maybe he finally understands, finally knows the right language for what he has been trying to say for years. This moment is the most balanced he’s felt all night.

 

“Green,” he says, and feels the word settle like electricity into his bones. “Green light.”

 

His words seem to echo around the room.

 

Jack lets Sam wait in silence for several long moments, scraping his green eyes from one end of Sam’s long body to the other. He can feel the weight of Jack’s gaze soaking into every bit of his exposed skin, settling greedily on his lips, pinning him to the floor.

 

“You are offering me a beautiful gift, baby,” Jack breathes, voice low and dark, approval washing over Sam and sinking into every thirsty inch of him. “I want to accept that gift. I want to learn for myself what you look like and sound like when you are getting what you need.” He pauses, leans forward to cup Sam’s chin and force eye contact. “You know what to say to me if you want to stop?”

 

“Yes,” Sam replies on an exhale. “Yes, sir,” he adds. Instinct. Jack’s eyes flutter shut for the count of two, a deep groan escaping his throat. When he opens them again, Sam sees a flood of lust and strength, barely contained. A tiger about to be released from his cage.

 

“Tell me,” he says, grip tightening. Sam fights off a momentary fantasy about a thumb-shaped bruise on his jaw, tries to focus on now, on this man right here who wants him right now. Sam wants to know what he tastes like when he loses control.

 

“If I want to stop, Sir, I will tell you ‘red light.’”

 

“And if your mouth is too occupied for words?” Sam hadn’t even considered this. He stumbles through a reply, hopes that it’s enough, that he’s enough.

 

“I will, uh, I’ll tap my, my right hand on, um, on the side of your leg … three times?”

 

Jack loosens his grip, drops his hand, leans back.

 

“Very good,” he says, “good boy.” Sam shivers from head to toe. “Let’s play.”

 

*****

 

Over the course of the last 20 minutes, Sam had merrily skipped past what he thought might be limits. Some nudity in public, maybe? Jack had merely looked him over and rumbled “I want your shirt off,” and off it came. Jack had left his bare torso on display for awhile then, had let others who happened to stop by admire his new toy, playful smirk firmly in place on his sinful lips. Sam wrapped himself in Jack’s approval, and heard, muffled as if at a distance, Jack’s calming agreement of “Yes, his is, isn’t he? So beautiful.” Something inside Sam preened and purred.

 

Restraints, perhaps?. Jack had gestured to the couch on either side of his own hips and murmured “Put your hands here, baby, don’t move them.” Jack had placed his own on top of Sam’s for emphasis, a determined pressure, a silent and squeezing command as he looked down on Sam, kneeling and content on the floor. Sam’s mouth watered as the new position pulled him even closer to Jack’s obvious arousal, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering hungrily over it.

 

Following instruction without question? Sam had begun to realize he was made for this. While his knees were aching and his feet had fallen numb, he noticed his willingness to do whatever Jack asked. He had looked at the fit body in front of him, radiating heat, slacks tented with excitement, and forced himself to reign in his sudden desire to crawl into Jack’s lap and beg. Jack noticed him looking, allowed him to look, even encouraged him to look with a subtle slouch back into the soft leather sofa, eyebrows jumping with humor.

 

“Don’t move your hands,” Jack had softly commanded as he removed his fingers from Sam’s to reach for his own belt buckle. Now Sam finds himself scrabbling to grip the smooth surface of the leather sofa, hands slick with sweat, eyes blurry with tears, mouth full of Jack’s cock as he pulses closer and closer to release. Jack’s fingers tangle in Sam’s hair painfully, and all Sam wants is more, harder. He tries to say so, tries to beg for Jack to _“please, please, fuck my face”_ like he was born for nothing but this, but the words are stuck inside his throat and vibrating around Jack’s thrusting flesh.

 

“Holy fuck, baby,” Jack moans, “you have no idea, fuck, I’m gonna, oh Jesus Christ…”

 

Sam’s world becomes nothing but this moment: sweat-slicked leather under his hands, an open zipper scratching his left cheek, Jack’s insistent fingers gripping him by the hair, his own tears running down his neck, and the bitter burn of Jack’s salty release as it floods his throat. Sam swallows without question, presses his tongue flat against the underside of Jack’s cock as the man rides the last wave of his pleasure. Jack’s trembling hands untangle from Sam’s sweaty hair and the two men fall apart, chests heaving with heavy and humid breath, in and out, in and out. Sam feels his eyelids flutter shut as he settles back on his heels, licks a stray drop of come from his bottom lip, moans to himself at the taste. He stares down at his own body, at the palms of his hands. He thinks _Are these my hands? Whose body is this?_

 

His question is answered when he lands flat on his back on the painted cement, Jack’s wide left palm pushing insistently on his bare chest, his right hand cupping Sam’s erection through his slacks as if he owns it. Maybe he does. He swings a leg over to straddle Sam’s thighs and leans closer.

 

“Mine,” Jack whispers roughly, “This body is mine.” Sam mind knows no words except _Okay, yes. Okay. Yes._

 

“At least for this moment, beautiful boy, I own you. I own this,” he growls, squeezing, releasing, squeezing. Sam feels flooded with electricity as Jack massages his stiff and searing cock, feels just about to fly over the rolling edge of this cliff. He scrambles for any semblance of control. He doesn’t find it.

 

“Yes, baby, you can come, you can…”

 

Jack’s sentence hangs in the air, unfinished, as Sam explodes with pleasure, his body responding to the presence of _permission._ His pants flood with hot, wet, release, back arching off the floor, voice echoing around them like a warcry.

 

“So, beautiful,” he hears Jack whisper, feels fingers thread through his sweaty hair. “Perfect. My good boy.”

 

Sam anchors himself to the sound of Jack’s voice, praising him, and to the sensation of strong fingers rubbing his shoulders, helping him sit up, holding cold water to his lips. Jack’s hands are keeping Sam from flying into a million pieces. He gradually comes back to himself, then wonders: _Who am I, though? Maybe not who I thought I was. Definitely not the same guy who walked in here._ Jack seems to know what he’s thinking.

 

“Did you figure it out?” he asks with a small smile, gently, voice soft.

 

Sam seeks out Jack’s green, green eyes. His own smile and the answer both flow from his mouth easily.

 

 _Yes, I think so._ “Yes.”

 

_Yes._


End file.
